Deadly
by muhnemma
Summary: Just how many sins can Evey Hammond drive our masked revolutionary to? Seven drabbles.
1. Sloth

**Disclaimer: **Quite clearly, I don't own the characters.

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V really should move. He knows that he should get off the sofa, strap his knives into place and leave the Shadow Gallery to go about the night's work. But he also knows that he isn't going to.

There's a shipment tonight, a train carrying yet more food to Sutler's already bloated supplies. There is enough food on that train to keep him and Evey well fed for weeks, if not months. But how can he be expected to move when he's so wonderfully _relaxed_? Gaining enough of Evey's trust that she would willingly sit beside him was a hard won pleasure that he is reluctant to relinquish. The look of rapture on her face as she watches the black and white figures parade across the screen is entrancing, and his limbs are weighed down with the desire to remain cradled against the soft pillows that comfort his tired body.

_This is no way for a revolutionary to think, _he scolds himself silently. _Will you remain on the sofa on the fifth because you are reluctant to give up your own comfort? _

Sighing, V begins to rise. Before he moves so much as an inch, a bowl of buttery popcorn is thrust beneath his nose. "Popcorn?" Evey asks absently, her eyes not moving from the screen. A moment of hesitation, then V scoops up a handful of the popcorn and sinks back into the sofa, resigned to doing nothing for the evening.


	2. Gluttony

Food used to be one of V's great pleasures.

Immense time and preparation went into each of his meals. He selected his ingredients carefully, almost lovingly, and relished the act of cooking, enjoying _creating _something for once rather than destroying. Each bite was chewed slowly and savored, complimented by the finest wines Sutler's cellars had to offer.

With Evey in his home, things were far more complicated. If he removed his mask to dine with her, no doubt she would be put off meals for an entire week. Instead he waited until he was certain she was asleep, locked himself in his room, and crammed the food into his mouth, only stopping when his stomach felt heavy and swollen.


	3. Lust

If V had been capable of any kind of rational thought, he would have mused that it was odd that a fruit salad should be the undoing of him. However, he couldn't even manage to smile feebly at the idea that bullets and blades rarely even made him blink, but the flesh of a fruit passing through a young woman's lips was enough to knock all the breath out of him.

But this wasn't just _any _young woman. This was Evey Hammond. Evey of the concerned glances every time he returned to the Shadow Gallery injured; Evey of the soft touches that seemed to be increasing in frequency; Evey of the inviting eyes and smiles. Evey who, if he should reach out to her, might just come willingly into his arms and – no. _No! _Of course Evey tried to be nice to him, she was a captive here. She was probably terrified of what the consequences would be should she offend him. She… She…

She pushed aside the bowl of raspberries and strawberries and drew a tub of ice cream towards her. With an expression of almost indecent excitement, she peeled the lid off and dug into the creamy substance with a spoon. Rather than swallow the ice cream in one bite, she lapped at it gently with the tip of her tongue. V found himself unable to stop the sudden barrage of images that forced their way into his mind. In his mind's eye he saw Evey pulling the leather glove from his hand and, instead of recoiling in disgust, raining many tiny kisses on his fingers. He saw her tongue dart out to playfully lick his palm, the soft, pink flesh gleaming against his angry, red skin. Her large eyes, normally filled with fear or doubt, stared up at him, and now he saw only heat in them as she reached under his shirt and –

_No! _He turned on his heels and sped from the kitchen, leaving Evey to enjoy her fruit and ice cream without the risk of being leapt upon.


	4. Envy

V wondered exactly when he had come to be jealous of a book. It wasn't a special book. With its battered cover and reams of torn, lined pages, it wasn't even pleasant to look at. But during Evey's first few weeks in the Shadow Gallery, every time he glanced in her direction (which was often, whether she realised it or not) she seemed to be scribbling away inside it. Her face when she wrote was always pleasing; a frown of concentration, the delicate tip of her pink tongue poking between her lips, her pen moving across the page with unusual speed.

When he asked her exactly what she was writing, she always smiled and replied that it was a diary, clutching the book tightly against her chest as if she were afraid he would rip it away and delve into her secrets. He _wanted_ to rip the book apart, but he would refrain. Why should unworthy paper be given a deep knowledge of her every thought and feeling while he was left to puzzle over the subtlest changes in her mood?

As weeks turned into months, she wrote in her diary less and less. V realised that she was beginning to confide in him what she used to scribble in the book. Now, whenever he sees it, he feels almost smug. All he envies now is that blasted teddy that she falls asleep with clutched to her breast every night.


	5. Wrath

The slivers of glass spun through the air. Some skidded only a few inches across the ground before coming to a halt. Others crashed into the wall and fell harmlessly to the floor. A few unruly splinters flew upwards into V's face, and he instinctively threw his arm up to protect himself although the glass would never be able to penetrate the mask he wore.

Unsurprisingly, smashing everything in the Shadow Gallery that wasn't one of a kind or beautiful hadn't made him feel any better. Betrayal was still a bitter lump in his throat, burning rage in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't stand still; his skin seemed to have a life of its own, crawling and itching every time he thought of what _she _had done.

_She_ had betrayed him. _She_ had offered to help, only to warn that monster Lilliman of his impending doom and flee at the first opportunity. All his previous thoughts of tenderness were gone, replaced by a delicious image of his hands squeezing the life from her traitorous throat. After all he had done for her, she –

But _what_ had he done for her? Brought her to an underground prison, snatched her from her life for an entire year. He saw that it was necessary and only wanted to keep her from the harm she would come to if Creedy's men got their filthy hands on her, but how could a terrified young woman be expected to have such foresight? To her he was a terrorist, a murderer; undoubtedly no better than the people he wished to protect her from.

He had lived his whole life – or at least, what he could remember of his life – without fear. Perhaps he was underestimating the lengths it could drive Evey Hammond to. She had seemed so willing to help, so free of her fear, that perhaps he had overlooked the deception in her eyes. No matter. That was the past, something that couldn't be changed. Her future was still uncertain, and he was more than willing to help shape it.

Still furious, although no longer sure whether it was with Evey or himself, he stalked off into the deeper sections of his home, a plan growing in his mind.


	6. Pride

_Crack._

V gripped Evey by the shoulders and slammed her into the tile wall. Her mouth flew open in a silent 'O' of agony as old wounds received yet another battering. Hurting her was as quick, if not as easy, as closing his fingers around a butterfly and crushing the life from it. Her eyes, always wide and glazed with pain, accused him and sliced through to his very core.

Not for the first time, V wondered if what he was doing could be justified. If this worked, if this torture (for that was what it truly was, and monstrous deeds deserve monstrous names) succeeded, Evey would be free of the fear that imprisoned her. But she wouldn't have chosen that freedom of her own free will. Had he been steeped in blood and steel for so long that he had lost his humanity, that he thought he could play God with people's lives? He was some sort of dark messiah, baptizing his flock in agony.

As he thought, his grip on Evey's shoulders began to loosen and she slid down the wall until she stood on her own feet. Lost in his dilemma, his hand alighted on her cheek in a rare show of affection. He didn't notice the placement of his hand until he felt her teeth pierce the leather, pierce the scarred, toughened skin beneath and draw blood from his finger. In the long moment before he beat her until blissful darkness took her from the pain, he searched her eyes and found a reckless defiance. In that defiance the False God caught a glimpse of the fragile woman who would be reborn unbreakable in a sanguine haze.

After he deposited Evey's unconscious form on the cold cell floor he hastened back to the Shadow Gallery and stripped the leather away from his injured hand. V kissed the wound, worshipping it as he had longed to worship Evey, beautiful in her moment of defiance and fearlessness.


	7. Greed

As he watches her walk out of the Shadow Gallery, out of his life, he is overcome with a terrible urge to grab her and drag her to him, fastening her fragile body against his with arms of steel. She isn't just Evey Hammond anymore. She has been reborn, strong and complete. Dare he say that this new Evey is his creation? Why should the rest of Britain, people who would never recognise her brilliance or beauty, be allowed to have her? _He _should be allowed to keep her at his side until he had to face whatever the fifth brought.

But he doesn't move and she doesn't look back. Why should she? He had to break her to make her; she could never forgive him. Mingled fury and a deep sadness weigh him down as the first of the tears begin to fall. Calmly, he removes his mask, and smashes it into the mirror that reflects the monster he is.


End file.
